I always wanted to go to Paris . . .

. . . listen to Spainish guitars playing love songs in smoky bars . . .

. . . watch young lovers in love and wonder how it felt . . .

. . . dream about how once upon a time a heart could open like a flower in the night . . .

. . . how it felt to have wet lips upon mine , hot breath full of ache and desire on my neck . . .

The wine eases those day's distance in depth that cradle my thoughts

. . . the memories spin to the strings , bleeding away
in the shadows that remain skin deep in sin . . .

I always wanted to go to Paris . . . listen to Spainish guitars playing love songs in smoky bars . . .

Some day I will